


Over Troubled Waters

by bwblack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Explicit Language, F/M, Genderswap, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwblack/pseuds/bwblack
Summary: Fem!Lestrade finds herself up the duff.   Past 40.  Unmarried.  In a weird relationship. And trying to be a bloody good copper, so pretty inconvenienced by the whole thing.





	1. Fuck All.

“FUCK!” She looks at the stick and looks at the box and back at the stick… “Fuck, Fuck, Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” 

She chucks the stick in the bin by her sink and pulls out another test kit she bought from the pharmacy, “Fuck it all to hell!” she says three minutes later when she’s confronted by yet another angry red plus sign. \-- 

Looking back on, she had to admit that there had been signs. But pregnancy had been the last thing on her mind. It was so far removed from her mind that it hadn’t occurred to her for weeks. It was embarrassing, really. She’s never pretended to be Sherlock Holmes but she’d worked damn hard to get to get where she is and she’s a bloody damn good copper. She knew all about reading clues and not misinterpreting them. 

It wasn’t entirely unreasonable that she hadn’t thought of it. Skipping a month or two didn’t seem unreasonable, not at her age, not with her stress level, not with her weird hours and weirder diet. In fact, it had sort of been a relief. She’d seen the movies. She’d read the books. She knew that loads of women had some sort of crisis as they passed into menopause. She just wasn’t one of them. Periods were irritating and inconvenient and she quite frankly would be happy to be done with the bother! 

The Met wasn’t quite as much of an all boys club as it had been when she joined, but still she had to work harder, longer, and better than the men in her same position. Anything that reminded them of her femininity was frowned upon. She’d worked hard and had a good reputation over her 20 year career. She got higher profile cases than Dimmok, but he’d gotten his promotion so much younger than she had been. And truthfully she was doing the job of DCI at the pay rank of a DI, at least sometimes. 

Higher ups thought women coppers were weaker, and physically she couldn’t really argue. She couldn’t out run the fastest cop at the yard, not on her very best day, at her physical prime. But she could outrun, to this day, the slower ones. 

She worked hard, trained hard, took on extra classes at CID, worked with any consultant who could better help her close her cases. She hated the publicity that came with the high profile cases, but if she wasn't out there in the public eye, she'd be overlooked. 

So when she didn’t get her period in February, she didn’t worry. Hell, she barely noticed. She had a serial killer on the loose, a stack of paperwork backed up, and that wasn't counting having to oversee the new DIs work, just until he got the hang of things. They never asked Dimmock to do that crap. 

So she wrote off many of what must have been the earliest signs. She’d felt tired, drained, beat with a stick. 

“You seem tired, boss,” Sally had mentioned quietly as they stood at a crime scene watching Sherlock put on his little show. it was true enough. But it didn’t faze her. Why would it? She worked too hard, slept too little and ate complete crap 95 percent of the time. It was some wonder she hadn’t collapsed years ago. 

A week later the entire team, each and every one of them, came down with some sort of 72 hour flu bug. Lestrade wondered privately if Sherlock contaminated them for some sort of science experiment. 

As violent and as terrible as those first three days were everybody seemed to get over it quickly enough. Hers lingered. But it wasn’t like she ever did her stomach any favors. Lamb vindaloo 4 meals a day for the past ten days. She knew she needed to stop, to take care of herself. But the new place that just opened around the corner, had the most amazing curry. She dreamt about it. And if it stopped her stomach bug from quite healing… well… it was worth it. The food in the place was amazing. The beer tasted like piss. She’d complained. They’d shrugged. She’d switched to Lassi. She’d been pretty bloated ever since. Lactose intolerance? She'd worry about it when she didn't have a body waiting. She always had a body waiting. 

The current body, like three before it, was starkers except for his socks, next to a fountain in a London park. 

God, she needed to pee. 

“You alright, boss?” Sally asked. 

“Fine,” she answered through clenched teeth. 

“Again?” Anderson looked up, “You pee more than my wife and she’s in her second month.” 

Sally gulped. 

Lestrade tried to ignore her Sargent’s reaction. She didn’t approve of members of her team carrying on, it was bound to come to no good But any response on her part would go into Sally’s file and she’d rather not have a fellow officer tarnished by a temporary mistake, so long as it was temporary. “It’s the running water.” 

“My sister used to torture me talking about water on long trips,” John grimaced at the memory. 

“The next person to mention the word water is going to be arrested,” Lestrade warned. 

“Waterboarding, followed by….” Sherlock continued his explanation of the crime. 

“Arrested!” Lestrade yelled. “Are you done? Can somebody turn off the fountain?” 

Sherlock ignored her. 

“It’s not the fountain, though. Tuesday at the theater….” 

“You and Sally went to a show?” John interrupted. 

“Crime scene,” Lestrade grimaced. 

“In row F. You climbed those stairs a couple of times on the way to the ladies.” 

“Are you counting?” Lestrade asked, surprised. 

“And at the press conference….” 

"Can we spend more time obsessing about the victim than my bodily functions, please." Surely, it hadn’t been that bad. Except it had been. It had been worse. She’d been up three times the night before. And then it all came together, the tiredness, the dodgy stomach, the weight fluctuation, the constant need for the loo. 

“We need to find the poker!” And with that Sherlock was ran off towards the trees in the distance. 

John started to follow. 

Lestrade called him back, “I have no idea what he’s on about. I’ll text you when I catch up with him.” 

“No, not that.” Lestrade shook her head. “I think I might be…” She noticed Anderson and Donovan standing a little too close, “Work.” 

“Right boss,” Anderson said as he resumed collecting samples from the area around the body. 

“Diabetic.” Lestrade said after he was sure his team was otherwise occupied. 

“Diabetic? The urination? Could be a change in how much you are drinking, a new fitness regime.” 

Lestrade motioned to her body, “do I look like I’ve taken up fitness.” 

“Weight gain?” 

“Loss, actually. Most places. Not that it is any of your business." 

“If you want a diagnosis,” John sighed. 

“Bloating, I think. I’ve had an excess of wind, but my diet’s complete crap, so…” 

“And your last?” He looked at Anderson and back at Lestrade before whispering, “cycle?” 

“The cycle is ongoing, John. That's why it is called a cycle. The last period, well..." Lestrade realized her voice had risen to a considerable volume. “I've not been that regular ever, less so recently.” 

John’s brow furrowed, slightly. “And the last?” 

“January middle of the month, about?” 

“You should get one of those tests from the chemist.” 

“A blood sugar test? You can get those without a prescription?” She watched John’s expression… “No!” 

“Pop round to your local surgery, then, but you need to take a test…” 

“I’m not some 20 year old waif, John.” 

“Take the test.” 

He was full of it. She knew he was. But, she’d be able to tell the doctors at the surgery that she was, in fact, sure she was not pregnant. She bought one test. It was wrong. She ran out and bought several others, one of every brand she could find and took them all one after another hoping each time for a different outcome, but no. 

She stood in the bathroom for more than a few minutes staring at the line of tests like they were suspects in a police line up. Number six please step forward. But it wouldn’t matter which test she picked, plus sign, two blue lines, a digital readout that read pregnant. They all agreed. She was the one who’d been caught. 


	2. 6 tests, a choice of pints, and a chat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John turns up with ice cream and beer after Lestrade's taken her test.

A knock at the door broke her quiet contemplation. She wondered for a moment if it might be him. He hadn’t been around for weeks. But it wasn’t at all unusual for him to show up just as she was thinking she’d like to see him. The problem was she wasn’t sure she did tonight. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see anybody. She was surprised, however, to find John Watson waiting at her doorway. He held a Tesco bag in each hand. In one hand a six pack, in the other ice cream. “Come in.” 

“I wasn’t completely sure which of these you’d need most,” he said as he made his way into her flat. 

“That makes two of us,” She answered at once. Or was it three? 

"Two?” He moved towards the kitchen and began unloading her bags. She wasn’t sure if she should take this as polite or presumptuous, maybe a little of both. 

“Well, no. You were right. I mean you were right, weren’t you? No chance the test is wrong?” 

“It’s not unheard of, but….” 

“Unusual, and so the chances of six tests being wrong is…” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I don’t know.” 

John took one of the beers for himself and vacated the kitchen allowing her to make the decision on her own? She wanted the ice cream, she always wanted ice cream. She reached for a bottle of water and closed the refrigerator door. She took a step towards the living room and went back for the ice cream. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

He took a long drag on his beer, made a face, then held the bottle out to examine it, “tastes a bit like pissl” 

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” she smirked, “been getting bad pints for more than a month now, thought I’d lost my taste for it, but then after you suggested… well food aversions, that’s a thing, right?” 

John nodded, “But sympathy food aversions?” 

"Yeah, bit off? Cuppa?” 

John shook his head, “So…” 

“So?” She sighed. “I don’t even know.” 

John nodded. “We can talk about it, if you want. But we don’t have to. I just thought you might need a friend.” 

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” 

John shrugged. 

She ate more ice cream. 

They sat in silence for a long time, “You want to tell me how in the hell this happened?” 

John smirked, “when a mummy and daddy love each other very much…” 

Greer threw a pillow at John, “That’s not what I meant… and I’m pretty positive that doesn’t apply here.” She looked down at her phone, ran her fingers over the keys, and slid it back onto the table. 

“So you and the father?” 

“Are… complicated.” 

John nodded. 

“I’m careful, John. I remember when AIDS was a certain death sentence. I’m thrilled and everything that people are living long and happy lives, but I’m no more interested in contracting that than I am one of any number of other things. So let me reiterate, I’m careful.” 

“Nothing is 100 percent effective.” 

“At my age what are the chances of a condom fail resulting in anything at all?” 

“Apparently enough.” 

“So, I get pregnant, accidentally… which is humiliating… and I go through this roller coaster and I probably lose the kid anyway…” 

“It’s a possibility.” 

“Or it has terrible terrible defects, and I have to live with knowing that I did that, it’s my fault.” 

“Greer,” John interrupted. 

"John… or maybe I get lucky and the kid is born and it’s perfect and then what? I give up my career? I take maternity and Dimmock gets all the really good cases and maybe the pick of my staff? Sally gets my job and I come back to idiot sergeants and no reputation? Do you know how long and how hard I worked to get the good cases, do you? 

“And how does that work, then? Huh? Nannies? An Au Pair? Day Care? “ 

“It wouldn’t be the first…” 

“And then when I get called to a crime scene at 4:30 in the morning? What are my options then, huh? Let Dimmock have it? Or Gregson? The case, not the kid. " She shook her head, “Or better yet bundle the baby up and head off to work. Little kid won’t be traumatized at all blood and guts and gore at such a young age, I’m sure.” 

“Or the kid could grow up to be…” 

“Stay with Uncle Sherlock while Mummy…. Oh bloody hell….” She groaned, “Uncle Sherlock, fuck me!” 

John looked shocked, “No?” 

“Yes.” 

“Mycroft?” 

Greer nodded. 

“Mycroft Holmes?” 

“Not helping, John.” 

“How’d that happen?” 

“How’d Mycroft happen? When a mummy and daddy love each other very much….” 

“Funny.” 

“This whole situation is fucking hilarious, when it’s not happening to you.” 

“You’re dating?” 

“Yes. No? I don’t….” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“It’s Mycroft Holmes, you expect anything less than complicated?” 

“It’s new?” 

She shook her head, “No, five years.” 

“Since you met Sherlock?” 

“More or less.” 

"So he caught wind you knew his brother, had you picked up in his car, drove you to an abandoned warehouse. Then what? You asked him if he fancied a shag?” 

“More or less.” 

“Really?” John asked, shocked. 

“Sure, but that’s not how we met.” 

"You’ve lost me.” 

“He has me kidnapped relatively frequently, sometimes it’s the only way to guarantee we’ll be in the same place at the same time, or he used to.” She opened up a new text message on her phone. Typed an M. and placed the phone back on the table. She didn’t have any idea where to begin. 

“You're Fighting?” 

“No,” She sighed . “Look things with us have always been… I work a lot.. He works a lot. I get called to crime sense at all hours. He teleconferences with the entire world. We keep odd hours. Sometimes, we keep those odd hours together." 

"But…" 

"He hasn't been around much, lately." She reached back for her phone and pulled away again. "It isn't unusual, maybe it is. I don't know. We've never had a typical thing. We met over pastries at some all night cafe five, maybe six years ago. He sat right down at my table and told me the blueberry, nectarine cobbler would change my world. Guess it has. 

"I'd ordered a cheesecake. But when I tried a bit of his cobbler. God, I remembering if any man had ever pleased me as much as that one bite. And later that night… well.." She blushed. "The next morning, he was gone." 

"I'm sorry," John responded. 

“I’m not new. I'm not desperate to get married. I like my job. I like my flat. I like my life. I didn’t need some man or his pudding to make me feel good about myself. So I wrote it off to a surreal once in a lifetime event and I went with my life.” 

“So where does Sherlock fit into all this?” 

"So it's three, maybe four weeks later. It is a little past 10 in the morning and I've had a meeting with the brass upstairs. Apparently they aren't satisfied with my clear rate. And I'm pretty gutted because I take pride in my job, but also because Gregson's the talk of the town and his clear rate? It is somewhat lower." 

John nodded. 

"I needed a minute so I take an early lunch. How better to drown your sorrows than in a big steaming bowl of Pho? So I go to this place I know. A hole in the wall. A real dive. So surprise, surprise there is my posh git. Couldn't believe he was in a place like that dressed up like usual, but it is a really, really good broth. I'm not ashamed. We're both legal. Didn't do anything wrong so I sit myself down at his table and he nods at the waitress and she brings me my soup, like this was the plan all along." 

"This goes on for a few months. We share a meal. We share a bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. But one nght he's just off, you know? So I ask and eventually he tells me about this brother of his. He's worried about the drugs. I don't work narcotics. It isn't my problem but few days later I see this kids name pop up in the system only he has no priors. I go down to take a look at him… just wanted to see. I mean, meeting one of them makes you a bit curious about the rest of them, right? So this kid high as a paper kite tells me the guy next to him is good for a homicide Gregson's been working. I figure the kid is just trying to cop a deal but I check it out. Damned if he isn't't right. Next time I go down there he gives me his theory on a cold case from 1992. Call the tip in to the guys in cold cases and aren't I the hero? No complaints. 

"The next week I'm at a scene and who strolls by all casual like? One Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Kid can't be at my crime scene, not in the state he's in. It would be the defenses dream! If they can't get a conviction, what's the point? Next crime scene I'm at he's sober, he's fucking brilliant, and I told him I'd call him if he could keep himself clean." 

"You helped him?" 

"Maybe, but it isn't enough. It might never be enough. He's stayed clean for stretches. Then not. He's been on a good run since you've been living there, but I doubt it is completely over. I'd love to be wrong though. I like him." 

"And his brother?" 

Lestrade nods, "And his brother. I just never know, you know? DId I help Sherlock because of Mycroft, or did Mycroft start buying me dinner to get his brother help?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"I don't know. I don't know a lot of things right now, John. I've got some thinking to do. Thanks though, for the ear. And the company. And the ice cream. And the beer, for not judging. You've been a real mate. But can you do one more thing?" 

"Name it." 

"Keep this between us for a bit?" 

"My lips are sealed."


	3. Areolas and Antenatals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to Lestrade's hoping to talk.

When Greer hears the knock at the door she suspects John’s forgotten something. She’s shocked however, when she finds _him_ standing there for the first time in four weeks. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“I brought dinner, Lamb vindaloo,” she wondered why men kept feeling compelled to bring her food today. She wasn’t complaining. 

“Haven’t seen you in awhile,” she tried to sound off hand. It’s not like it had bothered her much that he was gone. 

“I was under the impression you were ready to talk,” He said from the kitchen where he was preparing them plates. 

“Talk? About what?” she often felt more than a few conversations behind when they spoke. 

“The pregnancy,” his answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What?” 

“I was under the impression,” he walked in from the kitchen and handed her a plate of food before taking a seat on her sofa, “that you were ready to talk about the pregnancy.” 

“Where did you come up with that?” 

“You’ve send me a number of errant texts, today.” 

“What?” 

“You’ve sent me seven texts in the last four hours. M.4q*3&, Upl8#, x 4 99 *#2Q7g.” 

She bit her lip, she had been messing with her phone for hours, she wasn’t aware she’d sent anything. “And from that inferred that I'm pregnant?” 

“From that I deduced that you wanted to speak to me but you weren’t sure what you wanted to say or how to say it.” 

“And the only logical topic is pregnancy?” 

“What? No. But given the fact that you're pregnant, well, it is the most logical sensitive topic you might expect us to discuss?” 

“Wait, you know I'm pregnant?” She was going to kill John, and Sherlock, and then John again. 

“Yes,” he had the decency to look at his plate when he said it. 

“I’m going to….” 

“I’ve known for some time.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve known for a while.” 

“That’s impossible!” 

“No, I’ve known since the last time we saw each other, the day after valentines, or the morning after that? I didn’t look at a clock.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve known since the last time we saw each other, but I was otherwise occupied both mentally and physically so I am uncertain at what time….” 

“You’ve known for a month?” 

“32 days, or 33 depending on…” 

She had a number of questions, she wasn’t sure which one to ask first. “How?” 

“How did I know?” 

“For starters.” 

“You have other questions?” 

“A number of them.” 

“Can we start with another?” 

"Well, we could have before you started avoiding this one. Do you do random pregnancy tests on dates?” 

“That’s absurd!” Mycroft looked indignant. 

“Well, then how?” 

“Your areolas had darkened slightly…” 

“My areolas?” 

“The area around your nipple…” 

“I know what they are!” She took a deep breath and tried to keep calm. She needed a drink. 

“They had darkened, a shade, maybe two. “ 

“A shade, maybe two?” 

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded as if that settled the matter. 

It didn’t. “How could you even be sure? A shade or two? “ She’d seen herself in the shower, in the mirror. She hadn’t noticed any difference. 

“I have an a very good memory, Greer, I know what your body looks like.” 

“You are forever writing things down in that little book of yours. You wouldn't need to write everything down if your memory was so keen.” She couldn’t say why she focused on this little tiny point, so many things swirled around in her head but this was the thing that came out. She hated her head. "God, do you have pages about my nipples in there?" 

“I've never make notes on things that are important to me. I have no notes on your body, but trust me, your areolas have darkened.” 

“So?” 

“It’s a symptom of pregnancy.” 

“Or it’s a symptom of too much sun.” 

“You went sunbathing with only your nipples exposed? That seems highly unlikely.” 

He had a point, but her being pregnant seemed even less likely. “So that’s it, one symptom and that’s…” 

Mycroft’s features pinched and he studied the floor by his feet. 

She knew that look, she knew it too well. “What else?” 

“Your taste… it was different.” 

"My breath? Your saying pregnancy has given me bad breath.” 

“Not bad,” he bit his lip as he looked up at her, “and not your breath… your…” 

“Oh God!” 

“Greer…” 

“So you decided I was pregnant.” 

“It was the only logical conclusion.” 

“And you left.” 

“I stayed for Breakfast..” 

“You left, for a month!" 

“Yes.” 

“And you didn’t say anything to me.” 

“I’ve called once.. I emailed twice. I even sent you a text.” His nose wrinkled slightly at the last. 

“About the pregnancy.” 

“What could I say?” 

“Darling, I think you might be pregnant, let me run out for a test,” she rolled her eyes when he winced “let me send one of my many minions out for a test.” 

“And then you would have to ask me why I thought that. And I would be compelled to explain and you would tell me how incredibly creepy it is, I am…" 

She nodded, “I have to say it’s a little disconcerting knowing you apparently have taken note of every line and wrinkle in the past six years, yes.” 

“I thought it would be better if you came to it on your own.” 

“Four weeks, Mycroft, you’ve known for four weeks.” 

“I thought you’d come to it a little faster." 

“Great now I'm old, fat, and daft. This conversation gets better and better." 

“I didn’t say any of those things.” 

“No, Mycroft, you didn’t say anything at all.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say now.” 

“Why did you come tonight?” 

"It seemed like you might be ready to talk.” 

“Talk about what?” 

“The pregnancy and how you wish to proceed, or not.” 

“You’ve made your opinion pretty clear, Mycroft. I don’t think we have anything left to say.” 

“I haven’t given any opinion at all!” He protested. 

“Mycroft, you found out I was pregnant and you left for a month without saying a word, that sends a pretty clear message that you aren’t interested in anything to do with me if I’m to continue this pregnancy.” 

“Where is the logic in that?” 

“What? That’s the only…” 

“I left to give you the space to figure this out. I came back as soon as you knew.” 

“You think you did the right thing?” 

“Clearly you do not. I see that you would have preferred me to speak to you that morning. I will make a note of it.” 

“Because this situation comes up for you a lot?” 

“You know that it doesn’t.” 

“I don’t know anything of the sort, Mycroft. You flit into my life when you’re hungry or you want sex and you flit right back out again until the next time.” 

“I see you more than I see any peron I do not personally employ.” 

“I've never been to your home, Mycroft. 6 years. You've never invited me over.” 

“I don’t….” 

“Mycroft, it doesn’t matter. It’s clear you aren’t interested in me as anything more than friend with benefits, and that’s worked for us, I’ve never complained.” 

“I never…” 

“Mycroft, don’t,” she sighed. “I’ve recorded your vote. I need some time to think. But this is over. Goodbye.” 

“I haven’t voted.” 

“Mycroft, you’ve known for a month. If you were invested in a child, well this child anyway, you would have told me. You would have insisted I see a doctor, and take antenatal vitamins, give up smoking and drinking and you’d have been force feeding me calcium and folic acid or whatever it is… “ 

“I will go. Take all the time that you need, Greer, but don’t think for a minute that I have allowed you do anything to compromise this pregnancy.” 

“I had a beer last….” No, she hadn’t. “The beer…. It’s… you did something to it.” He shrugged. 

“You put something in it to make It unpalatable?” 

“No, I wouldn’t’ tamper with bottles that’s unsanitary.” 

“But you’ve done something.” 

“I switched the labels… you and most of the residence of this neighborhood have been drinking non alcoholic alternatives for the past 31 days.” 

She closed her eyes, “And you slipped antenatals into my multi-vitamins?” 

“No, you never remember to take those.” 

“You’re not denying….” 

“I’ve had them ground up into your food. I thought that would be more challenging but you’ve stuck to one restaurant almost exclusively. It’s odd. You don’t normally. You quit smoking months ago. You could have slipped, of course, but there have been no reports of you buying cigarettes… and well, you’ve turned to yogurt as a replacement for beer, so I’ve not really worried much about the calcium.” 

“You need to go,” He’d stuck his fingers into every facet of her life. She felt angry, violated. She didn’t know whether to curl herself into a ball and hide, take a shower, or to lash out at him. 

Mycroft sighed heavily, “We really should talk.” 

“We should have talked in February, Mycroft. I’m not sure what’s left to say in March.” 

He nodded, “I'm sorry. I am. I won't try to interfere. Whatever your choice. But I'll be in London. You can call me if you need anything, anything at all." 

She blinked back tears and turned away from him. "not likely.” 

Mycroft took a long time making his way to the door and out of the flat. She didn’t move until he was long gone.


End file.
